The Pilgrimage

A snarl of traffic winds through a blank stare suburb
curled around every corner with angst heavy in the air
steel and glass and molten fuel restive, burping poison
sputtering awake under slate grey Monday skies
everyone’s lives tangled together in a chaotic mess
cigarette smoke curling from occasional windows
lazy with discarded words and talk back dream analysis
hooting calls in f-flat minor over tail gate benders
as hundreds more wipe the weariness from their eyes
cold and sluggish with rags of torpor trailing behind
uncountable souls with purposes unknowable
desperate and yet exhausted and resigned
to crawling through the toxic soup clouds
seeking destinations diverse and divided along lines
that those sleep-bleary eyes choose not to perceive
rumbling in slow motion over steel bridge arcs
engineered marvels beyond and above our heads
ignored for the most part or cursed for their effort
as the concrete laid thick around steel woven frames
raise us to the heavens or guide us through the deep
the legacy of our ancestors and long forgotten forbears
tirelessly supports the languid torpor of the present.

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